


Dissimilar

by WishMaker7



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: M/M, Pining, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29057973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WishMaker7/pseuds/WishMaker7
Summary: It was only a matter of time.I think the Chthonic Gods underneath the view of the surface had all begun to forget, in their ever-warm comfort of the Prince of the Underworld’s presence, that he was existing on borrowed time — time, whose delicate grains of sand were so dutifully replenished by the Night herself, in the form of the Underworld’s power, darkness.But even darkness can dissipate.And an existence where all those around him can no longer see the light he brings… isn't an existence worth living.---Or, an AU where Death gives his life so that Zagreus may still live.
Relationships: Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 54





	1. Natural Causes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Mortal Coil](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/751002) by Spiderbirdo. 



> I've come to realize that this work was unconsciously inspired in part by Spiderbirdo's Mortal Coil AU! It basically ended up being that, but with the roles reversed, so I associated the comic series. Please go check it out!

It had come as a quiet shock — such a shock, in fact, that at first, Death had denied its existence. Despite its gravity, despite its peril, surely, it _couldn’t possibly_ happen… could it? But Death was no fool; even on the chance that his instincts were _wrong_ , the weight of it all forced his panic, and his hand.

It was the scent of death, the last ticks of the proverbial clock downing its last seconds, its last instants — and it lingered on Zagreus.

In all of the years — nay, _aeons_ — the two had spent together growing up, the notion seemed inconceivable; after all, Mother Nyx had _fixed this_ , hadn’t she? Stillborn as he was, unmoving as he was, Mother Nyx poured her _everything_ into Zagreus’s being and _revived him_. _That_ was where it ended, with her energy spent beyond reason, exhausted, depleted, holding a crying, _living_ child. A child who would go on to breathe life and bear the title of prince — boorishly, still, but bear the title all the same; who would go on to learn and fight and rebel and reunite; who would be his friend and the epicenter of his _everything_ — _that was where it ended_.

But it wasn’t.

But it.

Wasn’t.

And for as reserved as he was — voice sharp and firm but never loud — _where it never ended_ left a cry that shook the House of Hades to its very foundation. “Something is _wrong_ with Zagreus! Somebody help — _please!_ ”

And they, to the haste of all who heard it, were met with Death himself, proud-bearing and ever-resolved, unraveled of his stoicism, crumbled beneath a form stilled once more, fingers keening for a life that no longer breathed, and left with only wails and broken sobs that wished to form his words, his grief. “Please just let me talk to him… _let me talk to him_ , I’m begging you…”

And there, in that empty room filled with so many, was Zagreus. That was where he ended, now quiet once more. Cursed to the Fates’ design that the Underworld may never have an heir, the air rang hollow; and in the stillness, they smiled, their prophecy fulfilled.

It was Mother Nyx who was first among those that answered to Thanatos’s desperate cry, her usually-graceful and self-assured features now marred with guilt, golden eyes trained on the butterfly that now batted its wings so languidly upon her son’s shoulder, a sobering and ever-present reminder that all had transpired was reality.

Still, as the eldest and wisest among the House, she took it upon herself to approach her beloved children — too loud and too quiet — and break the silence of grief-stricken sobs.

“My dear son…” her voice dulcet, she reached out a hand to Thanatos’s, lifting his stupor and reviving him to reality.

But it could not placate his panic, the sheer well of horror and guilt and disbelief burst forth at once, flooding out his mother’s calm voice, “H- _How_ could this happen?! What happened —?! _Why?!_ ” He cried, each of his questions choked, leaving no room for answers in turn; each strangled breath pushed forth more words without meaning, in a desperate search for nothing that could quell his panic — that was, until his eyes met that same butterfly perched so delicately, so fragilely atop his shoulder. Like an old friend.

And another cry tore from him, fresh tears welled in the corners of his eyes, streaming without reason or care as shaking fingers gently — as gently as one could — coaxed the butterfly to his fingertip, almost to pet it with the other — no, defend it from all harm, from all further suffering, from everyone, from _everything_ — cupping it gingerly overhead to protect it from the rains of his own anguish, for there, perched on his gauntlet, was all that was left of Zagreus, his soul formless and devoid as it was encased within the confines of antennae and wings, now only capable of its melancholy beauty.

“No, _no no no no_ , it’s okay — _Zagreus_ , it’s okay — _I’ve got you_.” Thanatos mumbled in a shaky mantra, “I-I’ll keep you safe; you’re still here; you’re not _gone yet_.” His world was void of all else — void of the tears just as loud as his, of a mother who lost her son, of the placations of a father who never knew the right words to speak, of the primordial Night whose shadows could not reach the corners of her son’s mind to shake him free of his own affliction.

It was only this butterfly, perched on his fingertip. Only _Zagreus_ , the pitiful pink form before him the only lasting reassurance that he still _existed_ in his way, not simply as a cold body on the ground, a thread cut too soon. It mattered not that Death had no dealings with Life; that he’d no idea how to return a soul to a body that no longer carried it. He was _here_ , still, _in his hand_. That was all that mattered.

With a trembling hand and more-trembling words, Thanatos allowed his palm upright, the eye etched into his gauntlet carrying a faint pink light as it allowed the soul passage within. “D-Don’t worry… you’ll be safe here. You’ll be okay; I-I won’t let anything hurt you.” And he closed his palm, brought it close to his chest, as though Zagreus’s soul would fly away and dissipate into the nothingness should he open it.

And there was once more a room, blurred in tears and stillness, filled with so many, and yet lay empty.

Nyx watched the proceedings quietly, heart heavy and yet unable to cry, not yet. She again spoke to her son in a tender tone, knowing well it would do nothing to comfort him. “And what do you plan on doing with his soul, my son?”

And golden eyes, shrunk to sulfur, flicked up to her, his lips parting and closing several times, the words strangled from his voice. But after a moment, he found the strength to say, “This _isn’t_ how it ends for him. I won’t — I won’t let it be.”

And Nyx’s eyes softened, kneeling down to clasp her son’s hands, carrying with him that which was more precious than his very own existence. “…Good.”


	2. Curse & Blessing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i haven't written a fanfic in over 5 years and i need you all to know i started writing this on january 28th when my ass woke STARK awake at 2:30 in the morning and i refused to crash until 4 am when i'd finished chapter one and this is now my own personal hell i hope you all enjoy

His hands would stay clasped together, palm closed and close to his chest. He dared not look upon it, for fear that doing so would make him disappear.

He wouldn’t allow him to disappear. He wouldn’t let him. 

When the rain of grief settled and all were worn, it was Mother Nyx once again with the temper even enough to explain all that had transpired. It had come as a shock to her, as well; she had not known the possibility that her powers were not enough to sate her daughters’ appetite. That the King of the Underworld shall never bear an heir, thus, Zagreus was unborn, only to be given life later; that the King of the Underworld shall never _have_ an heir… there was no such possibility to circumvent.

So as she gave all the darkness and life itself to a form who refused to breathe, she too, refused to believe that such offerings would be in vain. The darkness within Zagreus’s body had been enough to sustain him all these aeons, yet over time, his journeys to the surface wore heavy on his soul. Mother Nyx had believed — naively, but still — that though it was not enough to prolong his existence indefinitely, her strength would recover in time, enough to breathe life into the prince once more.

But it all happened too soon, too fast — the desperate battle to find his mother, to rebel against the confines that kept him safe, to fight, to _fight_ against that which he did not understand, too careless and too arrogant to believe he could ever be defeated.

“But could you not — just do it again?! Revive him as you once did before, Mother, _please!_ ” Thanatos had begged, an inconsolable child once more tugging against her robes, in hopes against all impossibility that a mother’s perseverance could perform miracles. 

And in her still tone, she replied, “Oh, my dear son… to do that would cost me far more than I’m capable. I would not be able to do so again, with my strength as it is. Why… the only one who would have enough darkness would be the Primordial Chaos themselves, for even they operate outside of my daughters’ design, and carry with them a near-infinite amount of darkness at their disposal.”

With the gentle tone she spoke, a soft color finally returned to Thanatos’s eyes. In the aeons he’d known his mother, he was able to discern her smallest intricacies — not all, such would be arrogant to presume — yet he knew enough to know that such a confession was the very same impossible sign of hope he was searching so desperately for.

Death had only betrayed his hold over the remains of Zagreus’s soul but once, as his fingertips keened the edges of his flesh, his body both too light and too heavy, too still. Far too still. He would carry his weight, no matter; he would carry his weight till the very edges of existence itself — a warped domain filled with endless stars, endless haze, endless emptiness.

And there among the darkness lay the magnificent form of Chaos themselves, eclipsing the pillars and slabs long since dilapidated by their form so immaculate, as if to give reason as to why the void reached infinity. It was on one of these decrepit slabs that Thanatos rested Zagreus, touch delicate as though he would shatter.

“I had sensed your approach, O Son of Nyx.” Chaos’s voice sprang forth, a cacophony engulfing all of the domain in which they remained. “For you wish to operate in the shadow of the eyes of the Fates, and thus, it has brought you here to me.”

And even in the presence of one as respectable as the Primordial Chaos, a plea bore through Thanatos’s steely expression, that which could not go unnoticed. “I do, Master Chaos. I have been told by Mother Nyx that you might hold the only solution to —” and his eyes gazed down to Zagreus, his expression quiet enough to almost be peaceful, “— to this. To bring him back to us.”

Their expression remained unchanged, only bringing a fingertip to their cheek in thought. “Then you must know by now, Son of Nyx, that I am capable of everything, for it is everything that sprang from me.”

“I do, Master Chaos.” 

“And you likewise must know that powers such as mine with the ability to unravel the Fates’ design cannot be gifted without cost.”

There left a brief silence, an air of finality about Chaos’s words. But with a swallow of his pride, and a breath departing his lips, he nodded. “I do, Master Chaos. I… I just want him back. An existence where all those around him cannot see the light he brings… it isn’t an existence I’d wish on anyone.”

And the smallest, amused smile curled onto they who originated all things. “Then what, pray tell, would you be willing to sacrifice so that he may draw breath once more?”

And this answer came not with a pause; it sprang forth nearly immediately. “ _Everything._ I would give… I would give everything for him.” 

“How _predictable_. Then you should know, Son of Nyx, that the price of life is life in turn. His soul, as it rests there in your hand, cannot be returned to him as it is now; it is unsustained, _weak_. For it to exist, and thrive… it would need a true soul in turn to feed its hunger; a soul undamaged by the Fates. Are you willing to pay this price?”

An unconscious hand made its way to Thanatos’s chest, embracing the quiet, dull, yet constant beat of his own heart. To answer Chaos's call was to sacrifice his own life. This, he knew all too certainly. His fingertips curled into the robe laid above its flesh. “I would pay anything. I’m willing, yes.”

“Then it shall be so. I understand that, for your kind, such a decision weighs heavily. So please, let me know when you are ready to depart.” And the Primordial Chaos laid down only the form of their boon for Thanatos to call upon, once his heart would settle, and he was ready to depart.

And there remained stillness once more. Just Thanatos. Just Zagreus. Just as they were, so many aeons ago, when they were still small, still _together_. His fingers traced over Zagreus’s, held his hand in his. The weight of it all, like Atlas, finally fell to his shoulders. “…I’m so sorry, Zag. I… I hope you can forgive me…” He leaned closer, touched his forehead to Zagreus’s, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. For one so warm, whose smile was so, so bright, he was so cold, so eclipsed. Not for long. _Not for long._ Thanatos’s breath hitched, a farewell in his words. “I’ll love you always. I hope… I hope you’ll always remember that.”

And with a deep, shaky breath, and a quieting of his heart, he reached out to Chaos once more. “I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am going to fight whatever devices on ao3 that keep putting spaces around an italics and punctuation don't you people know that's my lifeblood right there


	3. Of Blood

To Zagreus, it had felt like a mere dream. It was as if he was in the Temple of Styx once more, pierced by the vile dart of a satyr. He’d felt… _sick_ , a draining sort of sickness that begged for a panacea to heal him. But it had drained all too fast, his eyesight blurred far too quick. It was as though he was falling, fading… dreaming.

And as he dreamed, he dreamed of Thanatos — not at all of the steadfast and ever-busy Thanatos he’d known of late, but a quieter Thanatos, one who lilted in the shadows, hands clasped around the locks of his long white hair in distress, in fluster, in just about every nervousness one could imagine.

He was the Thanatos of long ago, young and still so fragile, who kept to himself and recoiled at the slightest sign of affection. This was the Thanatos that, aeons ago, young Zagreus had determined to befriend, above all else — though, it was a shaky start to say the least.

Games of hide and seek would quickly become games of Thanatos shifting far, far away so that Zagreus would never find him and leave him well enough alone; games of tag only had him cry out in fright at his very touch. He was the Thanatos who, at the mere thought of taking Zagreus’s hand outstretched, would sooner shift beneath his mother’s robes and beg the folds as respite from the horror of it all.

How he managed to eventually gain his trust — and further still, his affection — Zagreus could hardly guess. But among the many miracles Zagreus enjoyed in his life, this was certainly nearly the highest of them all; for he was a Thanatos he adored, and still did. 

And still did.

When he awoke, he felt a shift — a shift that carried no words he could discern, but a _heaviness_ he could feel upon his chest, feel in the very air he breathed. His lungs felt sluggish, his heartbeat, slow. And as he lay his hand to his chest to feel its pulse, it was very weak, and very dull, but very much his.

Perhaps he’d slept too long. 

While he stretched, he briefly mused the thought of simply setting out for another escape attempt right then and there, but, thinking better of it, he decided it best to check about the House. He had a story to tell Thanatos, after all.

As soon as he exited out of his chambers, he was met with the Night herself, hands clasped over her navel as per usual. But her usually-solemn grace now felt more heavy, somehow. Was it something in the air, he wondered? Thankfully, Nyx was the perfect person to ask.

But it was her initial greeting that gave him pause. “You’ve finally awoken, my child.”

“What? What do you mean? Did I… sleep in? I hope I’m not late for anything. Father’s not having me on some rigid schedule now, is he?”

It was such an innocent confusion that furrowed Nyx’s brows, a gentle frown about her features. “So then… you do not yet know. You have been asleep for quite some time, child. What do you last recall before awakening, if I may ask?”

“I —” And the question brought him still more pause, the implication of her words holding a gravity he didn’t yet understand. He folded his arms, thinking. “I was about to go on another attempt. But I felt… how do I describe it? I felt like how I feel when I’ve been on the surface too long. I felt ill, and weak, and my eyesight went blurry… and then I woke up. I figured it must’ve been something I ate; I knew that last pom in that satyr storage looked turned. But I ate it anyway…” 

The lightness of his tone only worked to further her frown, and was that… a mistiness in her eyes? No, it couldn’t possibly be… Zagreus was quick to spring forth and take her hand in reassurance. “Oh, Nyx…! Did I offend you in some way? I’m so sorry, I’d no idea. What did I miss? Is it serious?”

As she drew her next breath, there was a clear sniffle. This was so unlike Nyx; it frightened him. “My child… I’ve no easy way to say this to you. You were lost to us, in that moment. My power was not enough to sustain you, after all of these years. You’d left us once again.” And as Zagreus’s eyes widened, she stroked the back of his hand with her thumb, continuing, “But you were saved so selflessly by another.”

And a brief moment of relief washed over him. So they were happy tears. _Happy tears_ , right? “Oh… thank the gods, I must have worried you terribly. Though… who saved me? Can I thank them?”

She could not meet his eye. “You may, indeed. He is right past those doors.” And she motioned to the chambers ahead, past Achilles’s usual watchpoint. It was within those chambers that the likes of he and the others who worked about the House rested. “When you meet, please… give him my regards.” 

But despite the neutrality of her words, there was a solemnity to her voice, a solemnity of which made Zagreus feel… uneasy. He wished to ask more, and yet… he did not want to push the matter further. He’d never seen Nyx in this state. He didn’t want to make it worse.

So with a brief nod, he ventured forth past Achilles’s chambers, Dusa’s, and Hypnos’s. But from the very next room was a soft green glow flowing from the open door.

With a brief smile, Zagreus turned the corner to Thanatos’s room, perhaps to see him waiting for him smugly, demanding thanks for his selfless act. For of course it would be Thanatos; who better to save Zagreus from death than Death himself? It was most certainly a difficult job, to get it done, but if anyone could do it, he was grateful —

It —

Was —

The sight of a bed made neatly as it always was, and resting gently atop it was Thanatos’s signature gauntlet, framed on one side by his sword, and the other, his scythe. Beside the gauntlet was the source of the green glow, a candle left in its holder, having burned for quite some time, the melted wax, in places, overflowing. And beside it was a scroll, written delicately in Nyx’s hand, decorated with Hypnos’s little illustrations around the edges:

Στη μνήμη του θανάτου.

_In memory of Thanatos._


	4. Dissimilar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably where I'll put my fic on hold for the time being while I catch up with my own work! This is coming along a lot more nicely than I'd hoped :') Thank you all so much to those of you who enjoy it so far!

He felt no joy in the coming months; frankly, it all felt numb. His body worked automatically, to cut through and slash and conquer and destroy, but his eyes held nothing. How could they? How could _he?_

As he would blink, hair as soft as spider’s silk would flash before him, framed around soft golden eyes, and a rare parting of umber lips into a smile lit up like the sun.

His smile. A smile which no longer existed.

So Zagreus would keep his eyes open, trained to the ground, trained past any real object in particular. He would not sleep; he would not rest; he only worked, time and time and time again until he was swallowed by the Styx just to do it all over again. Rarely would he make it to the surface; the cold air was kind enough to brighten his cheeks and stir him back to the world around him, but only briefly. But only briefly. His father’s words — first chastising, then compromising, then relenting altogether — never managed to reach his ears.

He would always fall to his spear.

Until one day came where his automations brought him back out to the cold winter his grandmother Demeter had left behind, and he met his lord father, God of the Dead, without his helm, nor his weapon, gone unnoticed by half-fixated eyes until he would speak, “…How long are you going to do this, boy.”

And in a blink, Zagreus looked up, now facing directly to his father, whose eyes cast to him in… a softness; a pity; a _sadness_ . “You seem… _tired_ , Zagreus.”

A scoff that wished to be indignant formed at the corner of Zagreus’s lips, clutching the hilt of Stygius tighter in a sort of anger, a _betrayal_. Hades had always been the one to cast his son’s feelings to the dirt and brutishly try to force him to change; why stop _now?_ Why cry sympathy _now_ , when it still hurt _so much?_ “Save it, Father. Let’s just get this over with.”

“I’ll do no such thing; look at yourself, boy. You haven’t cast your eyes to a real sight in weeks, only now looking at _me_. How many times have you fallen, do you think? Do you even remember? Do you even _care?_ ” He sighed, turning his head away. “Returning to your duties so brazenly has done you no good. It might pass time, but… you’re spending far too much of that time to yourself. To your own thoughts. Fates only know what you’re thinking, but I have a good idea; and I’ll not engage with you any further while you’re consumed by your grief.”

“You know nothing of my _grief_ , Father. Of _everything_ we went through just for him to —”

“You think I know nothing of grief, _boy?_ ” His voice boomed, stirring the delicate snow across the ground in its wake, “That I felt nothing as he was clutching your lifeless _corpse?!_ As I comforted your beloved mother from your passing before our very eyes? You can think me heartless all you’d like, but I’ve lost you twice already; I can surely understand the pain of losing someone you love so dearly.” 

And with his jaw and fists clenched, he sighed, releasing his tension, pent-up anger, his words unspoken which could never be spoken again. He was never good at comforting. “…Just go, Zagreus. Your mother, she’s entrusted me with a charm to give you, so that you may survive some time longer out there, and shield your appearance from mortal eyes. She thinks… She thinks some fresh air will do you some good. If not for my wishes — long now do I know you’ll not heed them — do them for her, Zagreus. Please.”

It was such a plea that pierced straight through his anger. Lord Hades… his father was far too proud to plead, and yet here he was before him, wordlessly presenting a white flower the likes of which Zagreus had never seen before. In no small way, it was his apology; an apology for a comfort which he could not provide — an arm to hold his crying son, wracked by grief of the loss of his dearly beloved; an ear to lend to listen to his anguished sobs; a hand to touch to the shoulder of his child so thoroughly broken, he’d not left his room nor spoken in days. 

He was sorry. He didn’t know how to fix it, but he was sorry.

So, with a hesitant and apologetic hand in turn, he took the flower from his palm, affixing it to his laurels.

“Know only that its powers will not sustain you indefinitely, boy. At some point, you will be returned to the Styx, all the same as any time before. There is no escaping it.”

And a silence passed over them, this recognition of two worlds so far apart, now meeting in a brief brush of understanding. “I… I know, Father. Thank you.”

“And once you return… speak to your mother. She longs to hear your voice.”

“...I will.”

Past the gates of Styx lay before him the fabled and mysterious land of Greece, that of the mortals, proceeding with their lives without care nor understanding of the world he’s only ever known below the surface. It was a world he was long since fascinated with, as his brief trips there left enough unanswered to be tantalizing. And here, now, he would have his chance to explore, to breathe, to get some fresh air and… forget, at least for a little while.

He was never quite used to the dirt paths; they were different than those in Elysium. The air above was dark and the ground was now slick, soil coming up in wet clumps on the soles of his feet. It had rained, he supposed, and from all his knowledge about the rain, it wasn’t a very pleasant thing. He was only so grateful he’d just barely avoided it. The darkened clouds seemed to part much further ahead, and it would be some time before he would reach any signs of life, anyhow.

To his right and left were lines and lines of fences, wooden structures with four-legged creatures off in the distance. Some looked like Asterius, some like satyrs. Cows and goats were what they were called, and with all of his past experience, he knew to stay away from them and keep well to himself. Further distant still, among the creatures, were little structures, houses — farms, they were known as. And all these large swathes of land belonged to only one such farm. 

He remembered learning of these things from his mother and grandmother, what it meant to raise a farm, a garden; to live in a cottage or out about the countryside. 

And there further ahead — further perhaps than he’d ever been able to travel in times past — was a small village, it seemed, greeted by a large archway occupied by coming travelers and leaving caravans. Men traveled upon horses and women ushered mules full of vegetables and fruit, merchants conversed with customers to sell their silks and their produce.

It was the function of society, that which Zagreus had never experienced before. It was… wonderful, in a way. Beautiful, settling his heart to a place of peace he hadn’t known in quite some time, to see it all move like clockwork, the harmonious chattering of mortals just living… as mortals do.

He was transfixed on the sight so perfect and unnatural to him that his eyes were quick to discern the sight of something familiar — so familiar to a reality he’d accepted was lost that, for a moment, his heart leapt to his throat — as did his feet leap into action.

It was the sight of hair as soft as spider’s silk, there among the crowd of mortals so plainly, he appeared as beautiful as a god. It was _him_ ; it _had to be_ , with his hair long to his shoulders, curled only at the very ends, walking further into the village as though he was simply another passerby. He wandered unadorned, in simple robes, with a simple basket of vegetables slung over his arm.

The image before him was so familiar and yet so foreign that it ached at his heart, forcing his boorish form past the crowd, past any who cried out, dodging away from all who stood in his way, to him, _to him_.

“ _Than!_ ” Zagreus cried, hand reaching out so close he could almost grasp him, before the shock of an audience left shoved aside in his wake caught up with him, and the man spun around with a gasp, hand close to his chest.

Truly, there before Zagreus, was _him_ . His golden eyes were wide in a quiet surprise, hair long like it used to be, his usually-tired umber skin now kissed by the sun. Though as he now met his eyes with Zagreus, they were gripped with an unfamiliarity, muscles tense, and expression… _confused_ . “I-I…? _Me?_ No, sir, I — think — you — ha-have the wrong person.” But his voice, gods, his _voice_ … it was his, all the same — dulcet and gentle and sweet — though… strangely choppy as he stuttered.

And now there felt eyes staring at the both of them, a notion of which was clearly uncomfortable for the man before him, shifting in his place from foot to foot as his eyes cast away.

The words he spoke finally caught up to Zagreus’s ears, and a feeling of gravity began worming deep down into his heart. “No…? You’re… not, then. I… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to cause any confusion.”

And despite the man’s timid appearance, he waved his hands, shaking his head in a near-reassuring manner. “N-No really…! I-It’s quite alright, sir. You — didn’t mean any harm by it.” And he offered a soft, apologetic smile, his nerve still yet casting his eyes out occasionally to the crowd who, now without the commotion to gaze upon, began to continue to themselves.

He was so… _unlike_ Thanatos, in a way. The Thanatos of present — of… _recent_ , besides — carried a voice filled with certainty. His words were always precise, always commanding. Respectable. Absolute. The man before him, he… paled in comparison to Thanatos’s resolve. Zagreus spoke gently with him, then, as though raising his voice would frighten him away and he would disappear like a dream. “Still, I certainly startled you… Though, if I could ask… what _is_ your name, then?”

“A-Anomoios, sir. I-I’m sorry. If I — got your… your hopes up.” He — _Anomoios_ , he called himself — curled his long lock of hair behind his ear, far too plentiful as it quickly spilled out from the shell. He then settled on grasping it close to his cheek, like a doll’s arm to hold.

And with that single movement, it dawned on Zagreus in an instant: he was so… _so much_ like Thanatos, in fact — though, the Thanatos of the past. The young child who would flinch, who would hide, who would fear. He was here before him — though, younger in personality to the Thanatos he knew; though older in age than the fragile Thanatos once was. 

Zagreus spoke his words carefully then, well familiar with the ways to navigate his speech, to be as harmless as possible to him. “It’s alright… you… well, see… I’m just looking for my friend. You… look a lot like him, is all. Sound like him too, actually. But clearly — And again… I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“N-No! I — I guess I get it… I don’t sound like a lot of people, I’ve been told…” And it was true what he meant by his words. Having been raised in speech by his father, Zagreus hardly realized that the voice he bore was more similar to the mortals of the surface than Thanatos’s ever was. And that this Anomoios carried his voice, it in turn sounded unlike anything mortals had ever heard. “So that I do sound like him… I’m t-terribly sorry about your predicament, sir. And, please… by all means, it’s… okay. Y-You didn’t scare me. I’m — _uh_ — okay now.” Still, he wouldn’t meet Zagreus’s gaze but for a moment, glancing down to the ground, tugging at his lock of hair.

“Yeah…?” He brightened briefly. That he wasn’t entirely aghast meant that Zagreus… could possibly see him again, did it not? That he could speak to him and learn of him and bring him back — gods, _bring him back_. Name changed or not, the man before him was clearly _his_ Thanatos. There had to be a way to bring him back to him, to familiarity. Somehow. But for as many questions wished to spill from his lips, Anomoios, as he was now, was… but a stranger he’d startled. There would come a time — a time soon, he hoped — that he could return to him. But that time could not be now. “Well… that’s good. That’s good. I should probably be going on my way then. I still have a lot of ground to cover. Take care, Sir Anomoios.”

“And you as well, sir…!” A nervous smile flickered on his lips. 

And for a moment, after the turn of his heel, Zagreus… hesitated. He knew — above all else, he _knew_ — he could not remain, both for his physical being, and for his social good graces. But should he walk away, what would happen? Would the man simply disappear? No longer exist? He could not bear the thought of Thanatos, once more, lost to him forever.

But once that moment passed, he could hear a hesitant chirp behind him, and a brief brush of his robes. “O-Oh, sir…?” It was Anamoios — his Thanatos — once more, a shy smile on his face, but genuine, still. “I… I hope you find him!”

And that made his heart lurch. “I… I hope so, too.”

It is not worth mentioning the remaining time Zagreus spent upon the surface, for once he departed from the village, his mind was fixated solely on this Anomoios — his eyes, his smile, the sharp curve of his jaw, and the broadness of his shoulders — it was all the same. It was all _him_. His height, his thin nose, his soft hair and their gentle curls, they obsessed his thoughts and every corner of his mind; gods, how could that _not_ be him? And why would he not recognize him? If there was a way — no, there _had_ to be a way — he would find it, find a way to pull Thanatos out. To bring him back to the surface, and have him recognize him once more. 

Though… he did not want to pressure this man, skittish and shy as he was. He didn’t want to lose his chance.

_Anomoios._

He would have to get used to calling him that.

There was a light in his eyes when he emerged from the Styx, having taken shelter in the woods some distance away to quietly pass and be returned. It was a light that was immediately recognized by his mother, whose thick brows furrowed with a tearstained joy upon seeing him see _her_. “My son…! Oh, you’ve returned to me, my dear son…!” She opened her arms wide, which Zagreus graciously accepted, holding her tightly, closely. She smelled of blossoms the names of which Zagreus could never remember. They smelled like home.

“Mother — I’m so sorry about my conduct of late, I —”

“Nonsense, child. How could I ask for you to be alright after everything you’ve been through…?” She touched her hand to his cheeks, through his soft, dark hair. “I am only ever glad you can look upon me once again… So I take it you used the chrysanthemum I entrusted to your father? The air helped clear your head…?”

“It did, Mother. It more than did… I went to a village, you see. And — And he was _there_ , Mother!” Zagreus moved his hands over Persephone’s, taking them and grasping them with all his warmth. “Thanatos, he was _there_ in that village!”

And he was met with a gasp. “What…?! Zagreus, look… I know it’s been difficult, but —”

“No, Mother, really! _I mean it._ He looked just like him, sounded just like him. He just — He didn’t remember me. But it was him, I _swear_ to you. The Fates wouldn’t be so cruel as to have a man exist that looked and sounded _just_ like him, would they? Roaming about the land so close to the Temple of Styx…? Surely if such a man just existed, you would have known about him, wouldn’t you?” There was a desperation in his voice, for the possibility existed still. What if this Anomoios… _was not_ him? But simply a man who looked all-too similar? But Zagreus would refuse to acknowledge such a possibility existed. There were far too many coincidences. Far too many.

“Well… I… _suppose_ you’re right, yes. Or if such was the case, Thanatos himself would have known about it, and doubtless he would have told his mother. But she and I talk often, you see, and… it’s never come up. I simply worry for you, son; that this man… he might’ve existed only in your grief. But if you are so certain… here. Let me see the chrysanthemum, then. It’ll take a bit for my charm to recover on it, but I’ll do my best to speed up the process, just this once. Are you intending to see him again?”

“Of _course_ , Mother. If he doesn’t remember me, then… then that just means I have to do what I can to bring his memory back to him. I want to help him, or… at least _talk_ to him more. I hardly got a chance… it would’ve been awkward to try and have a conversation with him when he didn’t even know me. He called himself Anomoios.”

“It certainly seems like you have a mystery to unravel there, Zagreus. But you’ve found him, my son. You’ve found him. Just the same as you did with me, don’t stop finding him. Not until you learn the truth. Until you bring him back here, you understand? I know you won’t settle for anything less, besides.” And with a press of her lips to the top of the flower bud, it began to glow a soft green, blessed by her power, her charm. She would not be able to do such a thing so suddenly so often, but the determination in her son’s eyes forced her hand.

And with a gentle hand collecting the flower, Zagreus grinned. “You know me all too well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it so much to ask for chris saphire to voice a nervous shy thanatos cuz that's the dream right there


	5. The Man from the Marketplace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate title: "Zagreus doesn't know anything about trespassing, subsequently trespasses"

He set out straightaway to see him again. But even with his reignited passions, the passage through the biomes of Hell still took much time indeed; when he found himself in the empty battlefield outside of the Temple of Styx — empty only due to his mother’s good graces convincing his father to let him go — it was already the early morning of a new day.

The sky was a much softer shade of blue, with the Chariot of Helios only barely peeking over the horizon. He had made his way to this stage several times before, yet bathed in this new glow, it felt wholly different. 

Such was the beauty of the mortal surface, it seemed.

His goal was simple: to find Thanatos again — or rather, _Anomoios_ , as he called himself; and with this in mind, his destination was the same village he’d traveled to last. It was a simple route, straight down the first path from the Temple of Styx, some distance away.

Still, despite his goals, Zagreus couldn’t help but stop and take in all the sights before him. The landscape looked… _softer_ , somehow. It was still dark, in many places, with many of the farm animals he’d seen before now huddled together, gently caressed by sleep. It was a quieter world, one kissed by Hypnos.

Suddenly, he felt a little bad for the beratement Hypnos faced.

As he traveled further, and the Chariot rose higher into the sky, he was able to witness the surface world come to life — the dews kissing the fields of grass sparkling like gemstones, and the croons of birds and fowl beginning to wake.

It was among this extravagant and glistening world that he was able to see the sparkle of silver, some distance away in the fields before him. Attention caught, he moved closer to the fencing, rested his hands on the sturdy wooden boundary.

And it was there he once again experienced a miracle — the sight of that shining scythe making its sharp cuts along the ground, held in hand by a man with spider’s silk hair. He was distant, just the same as before, but his appearance could leave no room for doubt — it was him. Again. _Here!_ Far closer than the village some distance still off, besides. So once more, with no hesitation, Zagreus found himself hopping over the fencing — merciful to the grass below with his mother’s charm taming the fire of his feet — walking right up to him.

It was strange, for Zagreus to see a scythe be used in that way — regardless of the fact that he knew that, most likely, this was its intended use all along. He was only ever used to seeing it wielded so masterfully by Thanatos, its mark precise, the symbol of an impending demise from which there was no escape. _Anapos_ , it was known as — named and sentient just the same as any of Zagreus’s weapons. He briefly wondered what it would think, seeing its master utilizing its more pitiful mortal counterpart.

It was with these idle thoughts in his head that he approached the man, reaching out to touch the back of his robe, “Sir Anomoios…!”

Truly, yes, it was him, Anomoios — humming to himself as he tended his fields — who had spun around in utter shock and shrieked at the top of his lungs, dropping his scythe altogether and ripping himself away from the contact with a flail of his arms. “ _AGH —!_ ” But, seeing the form before him, he was able to discern some vague familiarity, thankfully, just soon enough not to turn his simple gardening tool into a weapon of defense.

Panting, he looked Zagreus up and down, hand pressed over his fast-beating heart. “O- _Oh_ … i-it’s you… The man from the-the… the marketplace…” And just the same as before, his voice was stilted, halting, quietly dying in his throat, but still _his_ — though whether naturally as before or due to his still-heightened shock, Zagreus could not discern. “I — _ah_ — How… H-How nice to… see you. _Here._ On my private — _land_. Ah — How, uh… How… What brings — you — here…? To my. Y’know. _Home._ And all…”

And Zagreus was enamored by the man before him — his voice, his eyes, the subtle flex of his muscle as he tucked his hair behind his ear, only for it to spill back away as it did before — that he’d hardly registered the gravity his words implied. “Oh, well…! I just happened to be in the area, is all. And I saw you! And… I wanted to talk to you, about the other day. I just… felt so bad that I started you the way I did, I wanted to see if there was a way I could make it up to you.”

That drew a blush to Anomoios’s face, casting his gaze to a fascinating spot of grass that looked just the same as all the rest, tugged at his lock of hair, per usual. He looked very strange, the way he blushed; Zagreus had been well used to the muted gold of the ichor that flowed through Thanatos’s veins when he’d managed to fluster him and catch him off-guard, but this blush had the faint hue of red. Like Zagreus’s blood. Like mortal blood. “Y-You really don’t have-have to do _all that_ , s-sir. I’d said — I’d — It — You — It _really_ is okay… You didn’t-didn’t mean to, um, to startle me. It — was — just… y’know… um, coincidence. And all.”

“Oh, but I insist.” Zagreus pressed, a small smile on his face.

And Anomoios’s eyes widened, blush deepening. “I — mean — You — I — B — _uh_ —” He continued fumbling around with his words, eyes scanning the ground, refusing to meet Zagreus’s mismatched eyes. But after a shaky sigh, he spoke once more, “I — I-I mean if — I — If-If… _you really want to_ …” He finally conceded, voice small and shy. 

And with a relieved sigh, Zagreus nodded. “ _I do!_ I do. Thank you, Sir Anomoios.”

“ _Ah_ —” Anomoios’s shoulders shuddered in response, “You don’t — it — um… You could. Just. Drop the ‘sir’ part. Y’know. If-If you want.” And he gave a soft and nervous chuckle. “And you. Could just. Call me _Moios_. It’s… easier to say — _IF — if you want that is!_ You don’t — have — to — _Y’know what?_ Sir Anomoios is _just fine_ — Just forget I —”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down…! Moios, you said it was…? I’ll call you that. Anomoios or just Moios. We could drop the sir part, that’s just fine.”

“O- _Oh_ … if… if you’re sure… Uh. Thank you, then, Sir —” And he — _Moios_ , he called himself — froze there, eyes wide. “Um. S-Sir… _oh gods_ …” He paused, putting a hand to his mouth, brows furrowed in shame. “You — I-I’m _so_ , _so so_ sorry — I think — I — gods, I’m forgetting again… I… _don’t_ think… I can recall your name. A-Again, I’m _so_ sorry, it’s not… it’s just not coming to me — _please_ forgive me…” 

Zagreus quirked his head at his response. They’d only met yesterday, had they not? How could he simply forget… _unless_ it was never told? 

He paled. “Oh gods… _I_ should be the one apologizing here… I don’t think I ever _gave you_ my name. It’s Zagreus.”

“ _Zagreus_ …” Hearing him say his name in Thanatos’s voice creeped a shudder up Zagreus’s spine. “I-I’ll remember that, promise I won’t forget, so this — d-doesn’t happen again. A-And again, I’m so… sorry.”

“It’s not a bother at all…” Zagreus replied, in a voice perhaps too lovestruck. 

Anomoios’s eyes flickered up to him, truly golden as the Chariot above made them seem almost molten. He gave a brief smile, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I don’t really — know — what I would have you… _do_ … but, um. There’s no… shortage of work to do around here, I suppose…” 

“Oh, no need to worry! Just point me in a direction and I’ll get right on it.” He put his hands to his hips, grinning.

And that grin alone is enough to tint Anomoios’s features once more, and he quickly turned away. “W-Well, we’re — I’m — _we’re?_ Already. Uh, cutting grass for feed so we… might as well keep doing this. I-I’ll get you a scythe, though! That one’s mine; it’s the best one so — a- _actually_ — you — can — use that one I’ll just get another one. That’d be so rude if I just — and — _yeah_. They’re-They’re in the barn. You can — come with me? If- _If_ you want to. That is.”

“I do.” He nodded, a soft chuckle emerging from somewhere deep in Zagreus’s throat, perhaps as deep as the memory of a Thanatos young enough to match the Anomoios before him.

It was cute.

Retreating to the barn behind them, Anomoios retrieved another scythe. It seemed a little less worn than the one he’d used previously, its handle made of wood. It clearly was less used than the one before it. But it was here that Zagreus could closer see the man’s back — and more specifically, the black scar beneath his left shoulder blade that demanded his attention. He was certain Thanatos never had a scar like that.

With a brief smile — almost as though to reassure himself than Zagreus — Anomoios returned to the fields, continuing his work as normal. It was… _fascinating_ to Zagreus, seeing how the blade glided through the tall grasses, sweeping it away as he worked. After a moment, however, he paused, glancing back to Zagreus. “Oh…? Did you — n-need a place to start?”

Blinking away from the sight, Zagreus brought a hand to the back of his head, scratching at the base just beneath his laurels. He couldn’t rightly admit he simply enjoyed watching him _work_ , so instead, he said, “Ah, well… truth be told, I’ve never used a scythe before. But the way you use it makes it seem so simple.”

And his shoulders jumped the way it did before. “ _Agh!_ Oh gods, how could I just — I — I am _so sorry_ , I shouldn’t have — j-just… ah… I shouldn’t have assumed… I-I could teach you! And whatever you get, just… uh… y-you can put it anywhere. I’ll… I-I’ll just pick it up afterwards.”

“Well, I could give it a try, and… I’d much rather we could put it someplace the same as yours are. Makes it easier, doesn’t it?”

“ _A-Ah_ … y-yes of course… I — that seems… l-like a much better idea…”

So Zagreus would take the scythe in hand, its constructed curve giving each hand a comfortable grip. It was… strange. In all of his aeons knowing Thanatos, he’d never once held Anapos. It was a precious weapon to him — his gauntlet and sword, as well — enough that, despite their closeness, he would never allow Zagreus to wield them. 

It felt very natural in his hands, sweeping through the grass nearly no resistance, sweeping it away with the curve of its blade. He could only picture poor Anapos being used for such a menial task; how offended would it be? He gathered his method was approved as Anomoios wordlessly began to cut beside him, his pace much quicker, of course.

It was only after a beat too long of their strange silence that Anomoios finally cleared his throat. “S-So… how goes your search? F-For your friend, I mean.”

“Oh… it’s, well… going about as well as it can. I actually spent most of the night searching… it’s probably why I’m up so early.” And truly, Zagreus felt awful at the fact that he would lie to him, to this innocent Anomoios. His friend was found, in fact, in a way he’d never expect.

And he certainly didn’t expect the gasp that came from him, either. “ _What?_ You’ve been up all night? Oh gods, no wonder — n-no, here. Please. The feed can wait; a-allow me to make you some breakfast. A-And tea. Probably. D-Do-Do you… Do you like tea? And eggs and bread…?”

He looked about, to all the work still yet to be done. But although he would help — it was the least he could do — he wanted a conversation with Anomoios most. “That sounds lovely, actually. Whatever you’re wanting to make, I’ll graciously accept. Thank you.”

“O-Okay, you can just — uh — drop the scythe. W-We’ll come back to it. Here. Follow me — i-if you would…” 

His cottage reminded Zagreus of his mother’s. It was small and quaint, surrounded by a lush garden. It certainly wasn’t as immaculate — to say so would be arrogant — but it was decorated by dozens upon dozens of little pink butterflies, lilting about the plants without a care in the world. As Anomoios approached, they flitted close to him, drawing a soft smile to his face as they landed upon his shoulders, his head. “Well, hello again there, lovelies…” He reached out his finger gently, a butterfly perching upon it. “You’re being kind to my flowers, I hope? We have a guest today, so please be kind to him, as well. I’ll see you all soon, okay?” 

Zagreus couldn’t help but be enamored at the sight of him, delicate himself as a flower to be sweet to these butterflies. He felt his heart ache, deep in his chest.

He was soon ushered into the cottage — a home, _his home_ — decorated modestly, but comfortably still. It was nowhere near the size of the House he’d grown so familiar with, its ceiling far too low and its walls made of cobblestone.

It was quaint; it was beautiful. He adored it. He was quickly ushered into the kitchen, set down on a chair as Anomoios began to work. “Y-You just wait here okay? Or even-even if you’d like — you can rest on the couch there.

“No, it’s quite alright,” Zagreus protested politely. “I’d hate to have you wake me, or risk the food getting cold.” And with a brief whimper, Anomoios conceded, leaning down to strike some flint for the fire. “And besides, I wanted to thank you, Anomoios, for your kind hospitality.” 

“A- _Ah_ …? But of course… I — it — would be so rude of me not to, o-otherwise.” With his back turned to Zagreus, his voice spoke just a bit more clearly. “Strangers though we may be… your plight, it — well, how could I not act…? You, doing all you can in your search for your dear friend…” And he tried futilely once more to curl his hair behind his ear, but as it fell, he instead opted to tie it back with a metal ring, the two long silvery locks framing his face still managing to slip past his fingers. “If-If there is anything you need in your search for him, I’m… happy to provide. Such journeys can be so exhausting, I imagine… traveling high and low, just to look for him… if my home may provide you some respite, I’m… happy to offer it.” And he glanced back to him, smiling nervously, but genuinely still. “If… th-that’s alright with you.”

And Zagreus fell quiet for a moment, his heart so warmed by his words he could hardly breathe. “I… that’s just fine by me. _Thank you_ , Moios. I’m ever grateful.”

“Ah, think nothing of it… it’ll be thanks enough seeing your Than returned to you.”

And by some kind twist of the Fates, he turned around and continued cooking, quiet once more. For if his eyes had stayed on Zagreus, they would have bore witness to the sorrow in his, a bittersweetness as _his Than_ spoke of his return. How cruel, then, he thought, that Anomoios could not see it.

In the silence that followed, Zagreus was able to view that scar once again, on the left side of him, close to the middle of his back. It was as though he was burned there — burned so deeply, the scar itself was as though a void. But Zagreus knew the scars that burns left, and clearly it was not an accurate match. It was deeper, more painful in appearance. His brows furrowed, expression souring at the thought of what might have caused it.

But graciously, the air soon filled with a pleasant smell, the sound of the sizzle of the pan, and Anomoios’s quiet hums, and he was presented with a plate of food and a warm cup of tea, a small smile on Anomoios’s face as he turned and went to pour his own mug. 

He quickly turned around to the sight of Zagreus, cheeks stuffed, eyes watered in an overwhelming pain and whimpering as he’d deftly attempted to eat his meal near-straight out of the pan. 

“Zagreus, oh gods…! It’s — still hot…!”

And Zagreus’s attempts at conversation were quickly swallowed up as he attempted to fan his mouth, voicing, what he hoped, was some sort of understanding that he knew that — now at least. “ _Bh —_ _mm-hm…!_ ” With a few pants and a harsh swallow, he gave a raspy sigh. “ _Augh_ … sorry about that… it’s just so good… It tastes _so_ good.”

A blush creeped up Anomoios’s neck in response. “Y-You think so…? Well, I’m just — I — that’s… _good!_ To hear! And-And-And I have — more! If you want,” and Zagreus was happy to accept, “Just please — _by the gods_. Please. Wait a moment before you’d eat. O-Okay?”

After a generous scoop, Anomoios settled across from him, the mug of tea warming his hands. He seemed content just to watch him, in fact, quiet for a bit before he would speak again. “What happened to him, i-if I could ask? To your friend. To Than.” And that question brought Zagreus pause, a pause of which made Anomoios uneasy in turn. “Y-You…? Actually — you don’t have to answer; that was inconsiderate of me; I’m so sorry —”

“No, no, it’s alright…!” Zagreus interjected, waving a hand, though, his voice more somber than before. “I’m just… trying to think of how to put it. He… made a deal with a god, you see. I don’t know when he did it, or why. I just know, when next I awoke, he’d vanished. All of his family seemed to understand it was part of some sort of agreement, but… I can’t believe he’s just… _gone_. He has to be somewhere out there, I think.”

With a small sigh and his eyes cast down, Anomoios nodded in turn. “That’s very brave of you, then. To not give up hope on him. He’s very lucky to have you; I can see that plainly.” And immediately as he spoke those words, a deep blush creeped up his features. “I-I mean — we hardly know one-another, yes, but I — it — _you_ — you seem kind. I-Is all. And your determination is… obvious. I really do hope you find him.”

“Well, thank you, Moios. I hope I do, too. But in the meantime, with your kind graces, I’d be happy to stop by here every now and again. It’s been nice, though short as it is… just having you here and taking my mind away from it all — if for but a moment. And besides, you seem very hardworking; I’d love to just be able to pitch in from time to time. It must be quite the task, running this farm… all by yourself?” His last words quirked a question. “You don’t have anybody else here to help you out? I haven’t seen anyone, but I don’t want to assume.”

“Well, no! Not exactly. I have the chickens, and goats, the cows and butterflies… and the flowers, and crops too. But I-I am the only one who tends to them all, yes. _Oh!_ And how could I forget Mort? How careless of me…”

“ _Mort?_ ” His heart fluttered at the name, hand unconsciously reaching into his robes to confirm that the small companion was still with him, indeed. But if the stuffed rat was in Zagreus’s possession, what then…?

“Yes, just wait a moment here… he might still be resting.” And Anomoios rose, departing from the kitchen and disappearing to elsewhere in the house. He returned with hands gently cupped together, presenting them to Zagreus and lifting one hand. 

And there, sniffing curiously with his big dark eyes, was… a little gray _vermin?_ But he was so unlike the other vermin he’d met in the times before, within the Temple of Styx. His eyes were bright and his hands seemed so delicate, reaching out to Anomoios’s fingers to get a closer look at the man before him. He was… _adorable_ in a way that disarmed Zagreus entirely. “This is Mort…! I found him feeding with the goats one day, and sometime later, he wandered into my house. So, why, I fed him and bathed him and built him a little nest beside the crack in my room. And he rests there from time to time. Isn’t he _lovely?_ Yes you are, darling!” And he pecked a kiss to his head, setting aside a small plate of eggs for the little rat, leaving him to feast as he would desire.

It was after such a loving display that Zagreus was captivated by his actions, his gentle coos and sweet smile. It was nothing like the Thanatos he knew. “He’s very lovely… I’d never known someone to keep vermin as pets, however.”

“Oh, but he’s not _vermin_ — far from it. He’s very clean and certainly not diseased. He may be a bit _pushy_ with the other animals, but I love having him. You see that too, don’t you?”

And he smiled small, to the rat, to Anomoios. “I do, yeah. I’m not used to them being this docile, but I’m glad it’s worked out for you. For Mort. You have my respect there, Mort.” But his smile tempered. “You really… only have your animals and plants, then? What of your family?”

Anomoios’s smile, in turn, tempered too, glancing away. “Oh… I don’t have any. B-But worry not for me, Zagreus; I-I never knew them, so. So… I don’t… miss them.” But the tone of his voice and the wistful look in his eyes betrayed his placations, all too quick to change the subject. “Oh, it looks like it’s going to be a hot day; I’d best get to that feed before the sun rises too high. A-Are…? You — You can take as much time as you need to eat —” 

“Oh no, it’s alright!” Zagreus insisted, near-shoveling his last remaining food, giving a thumbs up with a muffled mouth covered graciously by his hand. “I can help…! Let’s go then!”

“I-If you’re sure… Here, then… Mort, darling, we’re heading to the fields. You enjoy yourself, alright?” 

And with a stretch, he led Zagreus back out onto the fields once more. There was much work to be done, indeed.


End file.
